


Hanahaki Bouquets

by bloodspatteredprincess



Category: Dracula & Related Fandoms, Dracula - BBC, Dracula - Netflix, bbc dracula
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:35:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23134024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodspatteredprincess/pseuds/bloodspatteredprincess
Summary: Agatha Van Helsing couldn’t exactly pinpoint the first time she had started coughing up dainty white and yellow flower petals, but the timing seemed suspiciously close to the arrival of Jonathan Harker, more specifically when Harker’s ‘account’ of his time at Castle Dracula. Perhaps the swirling scrawl of the name ‘Dracula’ on the page was what started the first fit. She had thought she was coming down with a head cold until she began choking on a handful of daisy petals.
Relationships: Dracula & Agatha Van Helsing, Dracula & Zoe Van Helsing
Comments: 8
Kudos: 32





	Hanahaki Bouquets

Agatha Van Helsing couldn’t exactly pinpoint the first time she had started coughing up dainty white and yellow flower petals, but the timing seemed suspiciously close to the arrival of Jonathan Harker, more specifically when Harker’s ‘account’ of his time at Castle Dracula. Perhaps the swirling scrawl of the name ‘Dracula’ on the page was what started the first fit. She had thought she was coming down with a head cold until she began choking on a handful of daisy petals.

, Of course, the small yellow pile that fluttered down onto her desk in her workshop startled her, but she didn’t think much of it. The feeling of the tiny silk pieces on her tongue became a constant as she started researching more and more about Dracula and the legend of the vampire contagion. Still, she couldn’t blame the flowers in her throat on any one event. Maybe she had come into contact with some new occult disease during her last trip to America to study the Salem, Massachusetts witch trials of the seventeenth century. She was sure it would pass eventually. If not, at least her breath smelled amazing.

Even through interviewing Jonathan Harker to get his actual account of his stay with Count Dracula instead of his written ramblings of ‘Dracula is God’ and ‘Dracula is to be obeyed’, Agatha had to swallow down the copious amounts of silken petals, letting a few slips as Harker proved that Dracula feared the cross. She was overjoyed by this news, but she still could not squash the feeling of stems scratching at her esophagus. 

It wasn’t until she was face to face with Count Dracula, taunting him with her blood to test the legend of a vampire requiring an invitation before being able to enter a building that the petals on her tongue changed from tiny daisy petals to large, thick red rose petals. She had to throw the full rosebud she coughed up under the pew she was sitting in as Mother Superior preyed over the convent in the face of the evil that was Count Dracula. 

While she and Mina Murray hid in her workshop as her sisters screamed and were slaughtered, she began collecting the bundle tear-stained heads of red roses behind a pile of ancient manuscripts on her desk. She tried to focus on her prayer and not let the suspicious blossoms distract her from her punishment of listening to the painful deaths of the women she called family. As her fingers swept across the smooth silver of her crucifix, her eyes caught a glimpse of an aging scroll he had collected from a Japanese merchant, Hanahaki Disease. 

Dracula had kept Agatha Van Helsing to himself in Cabin 9 on the Demeter, occasionally feeding on her just to keep her being unconscious and silent before he could get her to England where he had planned on making her like him, his finest bride. However, something began to confuse him. He would visit the nun in the middle of the night while the other passengers aboard the ship slept. Each night there was always a fresh pile of roses haloing around her head. It seemed as if her room was infested with the plants or maybe she was. He had to admit that her blood tasted moral floral than that of any of his other brides or victims, but he assumed it was just her taste, something so specific to her and only her.

When he tried to frame her for the murders of the passengers he drank on her, Dracula watched as the remainder of the crew tied a noose around her neck with a smile. He had her. He was about to win until drops of her blood that came from her biting her lip fell onto his shoe. When Agatha spit her blood into his face, he snarled at the temptation as he tried to hide his undead secret, but the red petal the fell from her mouth gave her away.

“You’re in love with me,” the vampire grinned as they stood on the deck of the Demeter. 

The wind fluttered through her hair, making her look completely angelic. Perhaps it was the virtue she still carried herself with. He noted the little convulsion her chest did as she swallowed down some more petals, sucking in and swallowing the one that tried to pass through her lips.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” her eyes rolled and her neck flexed, tickling from the feeling of stems growing steadily in her throat.

Dracula scrambled through the water as the ship sunk around him, searching for the single box of Transylvanian soil Agatha and the crew of the Demeter had left him. If he was going to save himself, he had to find a place to rest and recharge. As he rested himself on the waterlogged soil, he caught a glimpse of Agatha floating against the tide. Her body was limp and gave the tide full control of her movements. Her face was still and peaceful. When her mouth fell open, a slew of daisy and rose petals floated towards the surface. Her loving him wasn’t ridiculous after all; Hanahaki Disease was a dead giveaway. 

Dracula felt a sense of pride in himself as he finally made his way to shore. He had finally made his way to England, able to further advance his addiction to sample every flavor of blood he could get his hands on, but the sight of Agatha free-floating in the ocean’s current kept popping into his mind’s eye. He coughed softly, watching a small, yellow petal float slowly to the sand. He would have bent to pick it up if he hadn’t been distracted by a gleaming light that spotlighted him on the beach.

“Welcome to England, Count Dracula,” a familiar voice called from beyond the spotlight and over the whirling of the flying machine that hovered above him. “What kept you?”

When he saw the woman’s face, his heart nearly leaped from his chest, “Agatha?” He couldn’t hold back the fit of coughs as he studied the woman’s face and stunning, blue eyes. “You’re not her, are you?” It was then that he choked up a whole daisy, its white petals sparkling in the light that came from above.


End file.
